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Olney, Texas
About Molly K.Gilmore





A friend asked me the other day
"Whose saddle's by the door?"
At first I couldn't answer
But I thought about it more.

I began to look around my house
And to my surprise I found
That more than just his old worn saddle
Was still hanging all around.

My great grandfather built this place
In the Eighties he passed on,
But here his prized possessions stay
Even though he is long gone.

There on our shelves are his leather books
Which he used to earn his degree.
By the fireplace hangs his rusty iron
He used to brand Square C.

I ventured to the dining room
And on the wall discovered
An old sepia photograph
Of Pawpaw and the others.

Seven stalwart faces
All lined up in a row
And there I was my namesake
From one hundred years ago.

With my eyes I searched the room
There hung his Stetson hat.
The brim was short and stained with blood.
The crease was nearly flat.

And as I sat in Pawpaw's chair
A thought ran through my mind.
I'd never paid attention
To what was left behind.

My heritage was all around me
But I never took the time,
To understand my family
Or any of my kind.

Molly K. Gilmore
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


When I'm all grown up
I'll be just like my dad
Be just like my daddy
And that ain't half bad

My dad is a cowboy
A ranch hand they say
He rides and he ropes
At work and at play

My dad drived a big truck
To get through the mud
When I sit in his lap
He calls me his "bud"

And if I ask him
"Oh, please let me steer"
He pushes the gas
And I have no fear

His day starts real early
Dressed in his old jeans
His leggins are worn smooth
His boots smeared with green

Dad puts on his palm straw
To shield off the sun
He jams it down tight
'Case the wind makes it run

Dad curries his horse
Throws saddle across
He steps in the stirrup
And then he's the boss

Dad rides to the pasture
He sits tall and true
With a whistle he calls out
His old dog named Blue

There, off in the draw
Mama cow's gone to hide
Brand spankin' new calf
Dad sees at her side

He moves the cows easy
From pasture to pen
The trailer sits waiting
To put them all in

Cows loaded and sent off
Dad starts the next chore
Riding the fenceline
He'll look for some more

As the sun slips down slowly
Dad rides 'tord the barn
I watch for him, waiting
He swings down his arm

I fly up behind him
Grab onto his waist
We walk the last few yards
He opens the gate

My dad's worked the day long
From morning 'til dusk
Now the end of the evening
Is our time for us

He tells me his stories
We talk to the day
We plan out tomorrow
'Bout hauling some hay

Mom calls us for supper
I give him my hand
To guide me forever
To make me a man

And when I'm all grown up
I'll be just like my dad
Be just like my daddy
And that ain't half bad

Molly K. Gilmore
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


About Molly Gillmore:

I am 17 years old, and a senior at Olney High School.  I wrote my first poem when I was 16 for a scholarship and was one of the top ten finalists in the state of Texas. I haven't written poetry long, but I plan to continue for the rest of my life.  I've grown up in a family of farmers and ranchers, and the cowboy life is the only one I've ever known.  I've shown animals since I was 9, and this year I will show steers, pigs, goats, and lambs.



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